


Reconcile

by Parragone



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Mentions of past injury, Therapy Mention, doc and lion try to talk it out, doc needs therapy, emotional breakdown, implied monty/doc, lion is loud, mentions of other operators, monty tries to comfort doc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:21:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23615902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parragone/pseuds/Parragone
Summary: Montagne finally gets Doc and Lion to talk.Doc confesses.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 28





	Reconcile

He regretted agreeing to this.

Olivier ran his fingers through his hair, staring at his drink and tapping his heel in both frustration and anxiety. Gilles was scrolling through his phone across from him, and the empty third seat was a brutal reminder to both that Gustave had only said maybe to the meeting. It was proposed by Gilles, trying to resolve the animosity between the two men by simply having a conversation outside of the workplace, away from their professional setting. 

Away from a professional setting apparently meant the pub that only the operators used, at one of the smallest tables they had. A few others were there; Dominic and Marius were behind the bar talking about which drinks were easier to make, while Eliza and Meghan were sitting in a booth, actively discussing intel gathering methods while sharing drinks.

He wondered if Gustave even cared enough to try and talk about this. Olivier had done everything he could to stay on protocol for the mission that had broken their friendly standing and had said some rather nasty things in the days following. He wouldn’t be surprised if Gustave only came in to tell him to fuck off, to never speak to him outside of work again, to-

The chair between himself and Gilles was pulled out, and Gustave’s particular smell of rubbing alcohol and sanitation agents hit him like a truck. The man had to go further than usual this time in order to smell like a walking clinic, and something in Olivier worried that the man had been exposed to something or an operation had been more severe than initially expected. He looked up only to be both disappointed and concerned, immediately assuming the latter; Gustave’s eyes were heavy, lined with dark rings that spoke of going too long without sleep and too much stress for one man to hold down.

“Maybe this is not the best of ideas,” Olivier said gently. “You look…”

“If you say I look terrible, I am leaving,” Gustave cut him off. “I heard enough of that on the way here. I am fine, at least fine enough for this.”

Olivier gave a look to Gilles, who merely shook his head. If anyone knew when to fight that battle, it was the man happily spending his life with the doctor. The CBRN specialist shifted uncomfortably, placing both forearms on the table and clasping his hands together. He tried to ignore the exhaustion that lined the doctor’s face, guilt seeping into his mind for keeping him awake.

“Kateb, we need to talk. About… this.” He hesitated on the last word, trying to keep in mind that the doctor could - and most likely would - stop listening if he got arrogant. “Us butting heads has gotten in the way of operations.”

“Je suis conscient, Flament.” [ I am aware, Flament. ] The doctor shook his head. “Hard to forget.”

“If you are aware then-”

“What am I supposed to do? Pour l'amour de Dieu, they know we don’t get along.” [For God’s sakes.] Gustave leaned back in his chair, pulling out a pen to fiddle with. Olivier knew that pen; he’d seen it only when Gustave was nervous, frustrated, or both.

The CBRN specialist bit his tongue. “Why?”

The following silence was heavy, unpleasant as it dragged on for what felt like hours.

“Because you killed my friend,” Gustave said, his voice in that same tone he used to defuse situations with the other Defenders. “That is all.”

“If this was over protocol, we would have settled it by now and you know it!” The younger man slammed his fist on the table. He realized too late that he’d attracted attention from the other operators, Gilles leaning forward with a slight shushing sound and Gustave looking like he’d jumped out of his own skin. Olivier took a deep breath, lowering his voice again. “We agree on protocol, Kateb, we always have. Ce n'est pas une question de protocole.” [ This isn’t about protocol. ]

Gustave looked slightly pale - maybe it was the lighting, maybe it was fright - and yet he still leaned forward, quietly folding his arms and leaning on the table. He looked like he was chewing on his words, trying to frame them in such a way that it avoided more of Lion’s outbursts. He hesitated, again stopping his words before speaking in a tone so low Olivier barely caught it.

“Je ne te déteste pas, je déteste ce que tu es.” [ I don’t hate you, I hate what you are. ]

Olivier struggled for a moment. His words didn’t come out, caught in his throat. That wasn’t what he was expecting, and from the look on Gilles’ face, it wasn’t what the Mountain had expected either. They shared a look of befuddlement as Gustave rested his face in his hands before Gilles spoke to break the silence.

“Que voulez-vous dire par là, mon amour?” [ What do you mean by that, my love? ] He sounded so tentative, almost afraid of the answer. The CBRN specialist couldn’t help but share the feeling, even though he was the one who usually refused to listen.

“You are a reminder,” Gustave stated, voice wavering. “A reminder of all the times I cannot win because I cannot help others if I am dead too, of all the bodies of those I failed to keep safe. Be it protocol or circumstance or just not being enough, I lose every time to an enemy that no man has ever beaten and even though I know well that without those rules I would be dead, I just-” 

The doctor lifted his head. Olivier saw it now; the man was crying, tears falling while the doctor barely seemed to notice. He looked dead, his eyes lacking the usual shimmer of assurance and kindness he afforded all of his patients; something in the man’s exhausted eyes felt familiar, like something he saw every morning when he washed his face, before his prayers-

Because it was. He knew that look, the weight of lives he couldn’t shake from his soul, the fear he’d done it all wrong. The dull, aching reminder that he was responsible for sending other people to God, by bullet or by inadequacy. It was the weight anyone in their field had learned to bear, but the look in the doctor’s eyes betrayed how weak he’d become.

“I watched Ebola decimate people. I watched them die and I was helpless. You came along and even though I knew you saved my life by forcing my coworkers, my closest friends into quarantine, I wanted to be mad at you. It was all I had, someone to be mad at for being there and being a target. Then I had to respond to the front line and try to save as many soldiers as I could, and then Rainbow requested my services and Bartlett-" he shuddered, something visceral in his face. "So many dead from something we couldn't begin to fight, and then so soon after, Dieu ait pitié, the Chimera virus. Even dead, the bodies twisted and mutated into monsters.”

Olivier could remember clearly, and suddenly it sank in like a lead weight in water. It felt like his heart had collapsed from his chest. His stomach twisted, he felt his hands go numb.

“And Jager went down. He isn’t young anymore, and I was afraid we would lose him to that monster of a virus-”

The screams of the German pilot when the infected got too close rang in his ears. The almost endless gunfire, the disbelief that there were so many infected in what was supposed to be a small town. Wondering if there was an end, or if they had enough bullets to survive it.

“The doctor in the middle of it all, those things trying to rip all four of us apart, the moment of realization when I saw Basuda get impaled for one small misstep and I thought none of us would make it out alive." 

Olivier instinctively reached to touch the doctor's cheek as more tears fell, being beaten by mere seconds as Gilles took the man's hands into his own. He looked to the oldest of their table with a panicked expression, unsure of what to do. 

"I am not mad at you. I am mad at the fact you are everything that reminds me I don't win the war against death no matter how much I fight, Olivier. Every time I follow protocol, every time I don't, I keep losing. You've been able to accept losing. I haven't. I don't know how you can reconcile so easily and it makes me so mad because I both want to be able to do the same and fear the day I lose my drive to save as many as possible. You just happen to be the one to take that blame. Je suis vraiment désolé." [ I am truly sorry. ]

The virologist shook his head, putting his hands back on the table. He could see the shrinking of Gustave's body language, the resignation in his face. 

"Kateb, you need therapy." The doctor blinked at him, stunned out of his thoughts. Olivier stood, taking a breath and nodding. "You have seen… a lot. More than I consciously realized. I can understand why you've been mad at me this whole time; not because I necessarily did anything wrong, but because I was a target for doing everything right. Am I correct?" 

The doctor nodded, slowly coming out of his shock. He visibly tried to speak, but the expression on his face made it clear he could barely talk about this, let alone confirm the weight it held. 

"Then this isn't about me at all, is it? You have trauma, Kateb. Real trauma, the kind that eats away at you and rips into your mind when you least expect it and makes you weak over time. I would tell you to visit a church, but I don't know if God can help you so much as a therapist can. Dieu ne peut que faire tant de chooses." [ God can only do so much. ]

There was a weak laugh. "So far gone God can't fix me?" 

The Frenchman sat down again, shaking his head. "No, just not in the right headspace to speak to Him. You need help. Human help, to deal with even a fraction of what you just talked about. You spend so much time helping others figure out if they need help that you've been neglecting yourself." 

The table went quiet again as Gustave hung his head, almost looking ashamed of himself as Olivier tentatively reached out and placed a hand on the doctor's shoulder. The gesture wasn't rejected, and so he gently patted the older man to ease his frustration and anxiety. 

"If you need me to be a target, that is okay. I can be a target, Kateb. But let's keep it out of missions, and get you a therapist to help deal with this, alright?" 

There was a nod and a soft attempt at confirmation. Olivier could tell the man was on the verge of an emotional crash; the shoulder slump, the trembling hands, the tears he was trying so hard to stop. He looked to Gilles and gave him a quiet nod, leaning across the table to tell him to get Gustave back to their room. He got up as they did, following them out and giving them a flank to avoid questions from the other operators. 

He walked behind them, trailing the two men at a steady but slow pace. Gustave, from behind, looked somehow even more exhausted than from the front; Gilles was helping him walk steady, the man's head hanging in an almost defeated fashion. He wondered how long Gustave was willing to hold his anger if they hadn't talked, how long they would have gone at each other's throats for something neither of them could control. He remembered burying himself in the holy books, trying to find himself in the pages instead of in a therapeutic office. 

He also remembered how it had only worked because his pastor was insistent on talking with him and finding the roots of his problems. Even if Olivier had pushed back and insisted he wasn't damaged, he had eventually realized how very broken he was. He knew well that God could not fix every broken heart like it did his own, but this did not mean he didn't want to help them figure themselves out. 

The three men reached the residency dormitory, the quiet of the night doing nothing to stifle the shaking near-sobs from Gustave. Olivier watched his friend pull the doctor inside, giving the CBRN operative a quiet goodnight and a gentle smile. He gave a wave back, letting his hand fall once the two men were inside.

This wasn't the best result, but it wasn't the worst of them, either. With time and help, Olivier hoped they could mend the damage done. With any luck, he dared to hope they might even be friends. 

It was a distant hope, but one he could hold onto.

**Author's Note:**

> doc has seen some shit my guys


End file.
